Could it be?
Julie Marie! I call.
Antoinette Solaine
stops the car.
Do you see someone
you know?
Wi! My friend!
I open my door
and run to her.
Julie Marie!
It’s me, Serafina!
The girl wraps her arms
tighter around herself.
Julie Marie! Is it you?
Don’t you remember me?
Antoinette Solaine kneels
beside her and talks calmly.
We’re here to help. You’re safe.
Uncle Bouki, Uncle Bouki,
I sing quietly.
My voice is low and cracked.
Are you sleeping?
Are you sleeping?
Julie Marie looks up.
Serafina?
Is it really you? she whispers.
She stretches her leg
and a river of blood oozes.
We need gauze! I say.
There’s a roll in my black bag.
Bring it here!
And the small roll of tape.
I race to get them.
I can lift her leg while you wrap it,
I say, and Antoinette Solaine nods.
Gently, carefully,
I hold Julie Marie’s foot
high enough above the ground
for Antoinette Solaine
to reach under it.
’Round and ’round she wraps the gauze.
Julie Marie winces and closes her eyes.
Ou dwe brav, I whisper.
Antoinette Solaine carries Julie Marie to her car
and places her in the backseat.
Mèsi, Manman, Julie Marie says,
her eyes still closed.
I knew you would come.
I knew you would look for me.
We drive past a village
of sheets and sticks,
past rooms
of flattened cardboard boxes.
So many walking people.
Where are they going?
The earth stopped moving,
but they cannot.
I turn to Antoinette Solaine.
Where are we going? I ask.
I’m bringing you and Julie Marie
someplace safe, she says.
But what about my papa?
Antoinette Solaine smiles.
Let’s get you and Julie Marie
taken care of—
then we’ll see about your papa.
My papa.
Where are you, Papa?
Where are you?
I can see your heart is full
of compassion and kindness,
Antoinette Solaine says as we drive.
You would make
a wonderful doctor.
My heart swells.
But being a doctor means
staying in school, I say.
Antoinette Solaine smiles.
Wi! Don’t you like school?
I like learning to write.
And I like listening to stories about Haiti.
But I don’t like learning French!
Why can’t we learn in Creole?
Then everyone could understand each other.
How does learning French help people?
Antoinette Solaine laughs.
Those are good questions, Serafina!
You have a clever mind.
We are both quiet for a moment.
Antoinette Solaine glances
in the car mirror, then looks ahead
and turns a corner.
I’ll tell you a secret, she says.
Learning French was not easy
for me either.
People in my village
spoke only Creole.
But I wanted to be a doctor
so I studied hard.
She smiles.
Maybe someday,
when you’re grown-up,
you can help change things
so that children will learn
in their own language.
But for now,
we must deal with things
as they are.
We must not let
learning French
stand in the way
of helping people.
We arrive at a white tent.
A group of people
sing softly.
Bondye bon, Bondye bon.
God is good.
Antoinette Solaine stops the car
and looks at me.
Promise me you’ll stay in school, Serafina.
You have a smart mind.
Haiti needs people like you.
People who believe in us,
who respect our culture
and our language.
She smiles.
If you stay in school,
I’ll let you come to the clinic
and help me
when things are normal again.
But right now, she says,
right now there’s work
to be done here.
My head and heart are racing.
Antoinette Solaine thinks
I have a smart mind.
She thinks Haiti needs people
like me.
Imagine helping her!
Imagine working at the clinic!
And then my
rising heart sinks.
Will things ever again
be normal?
Will there ever again
be ordinary days
of gathering water,
and working in the garden,
of going to school,
and caring for Gregory—
of waiting for my papa
to come home?
Antoinette Solaine
lifts Julie Marie
and carries her inside
the white tent.
A woman with gray eyes
and a long gray braid
rushes over.
Antoinette! she says. You’re safe!
Wi! Mèsi Bondye,
there was no damage to the clinic.
She nods at Julie Marie and me.
I’ve brought two friends.
The woman with the gray braid smiles.
Are you hungry? she asks.
Antoinette Solaine
sits Julie Marie down
in a corner of the tent.
Her friend brings
two bowls of rice.
The rice fills my belly,
but Manman’s rice
tastes better.
I’ll come back for you
as soon as I can,
Antoinette Solaine says.
She tugs at my chin.
We’ll look for your papa,
I promise.
Thank you, I say
and wish there were words
big enough
to hold all my gratitude.
Thank you for everything.
Antoinette Solaine looks
into my eyes,
then pulls me close
and hugs me.
You’re welcome, Serafina,
she whispers.
You are
a very brave little girl.
Julie Marie and I hold hands.
We listen to the soft singing
of the people outside the tent,
the muffled cries and groans
of the people inside.
Where is your aunt?
I finally ask.
Was she hurt
in the earthquake?
Julie Marie turns her head.
I don’t know, she mumbles.
Where were you?
Is your manman all right?
Is Julie Marie
hiding something?
I think so,
but I’m not sure, I say.
Whiteflies flutter
in my stomach.
Can Julie Marie tell
I am hiding something?
After a long while,
Julie Marie says,
I ran away from her.
She wasn’t my real aunt.
Papa only said that
so I wouldn’t be afraid.
She told him
she would buy me clothes
and send me to school
and care for me,
but she lied.
She only wanted me
to cook and clean.
And when I asked about school,
she beat me.
A tear rolls down Julie Marie’s cheek.
I want to go home.
I want to see my family.
I think about all the lies
I almost told to Manman.
I think about Julie Marie’s family
gone to Saint-Marc.
I can’t bring myself to tell her.
Is that the same as lying?
I want to go home too, I say.
We huddle close and close our eyes.
Darkness is our ragged bedcover,
drifting voices our mournful lullaby.
Morning shouts
wide and white
like an open coconut.
I stretch my legs,
but my bones hurt
to move.
Leve, Julie Marie,
I say, shaking her gently.
How is your leg?
Julie Marie rubs her eyes.
It was better when I was sleeping.
She stretches her arms and winces.
Bonjou, Serafina.
All around us, men and women
in white coats and worried faces
skitter like captive mice.
We don’t see
Antoinette Solaine
or the woman with the gray eyes
and the long gray braid.
Julie Marie, I whisper,
I’m leaving to look for my papa.
Non! Don’t leave me!
Shhhhh! Only for a while.
I promise I’ll come back.
Now you need to rest.
Away from our shelter,
the air sags with the smell
of sweat and garbage.
Even my own self smells.
Rotten vegetables
and spoiled fruit
do not stink
as much as me.
I wish I were in the garden
with the sweet scent
of soil, basil, and thyme.
Are Manman and Gogo
in the garden?
Or are they here in the city
looking for me and Papa?
In every passing face,
I search for them.
In the daylight,
the city seems
less strange.
I pass a mountain
of blue dust
and recognize
the crumbled walls of the cafe
Papa and I passed
on our way
to his supermarket.
I know I’m close
when I see colored umbrellas.
They lie tangled together
like a broken rainbow.
Gogo says rainbows
remind us
of the friendship between
heaven and earth,
the strength
of different colors
stitched together.
But what about
a broken rainbow?
What do its gnarled
and twisted colors say?
I look around me.
Everything is crumbled.
Everything is mangled or crushed.
Papa would never leave me
so lost and wandering.
Papa would lift the earth
and pull down the heavens
to search for me.
Is he searching for me now,
worrying that I was swallowed
by the angry beast?
A black cloud wraps around me.
Did the beast swallow him?
My mind drifts
to the darkest place.
Without Papa,
who will hold my hand
and twirl me through the city streets?
Who will bring me sweet surprises
like sugarcane and coconut?
Without Papa,
who will tell Manman
that children must dance and play
even when there are chores to do?
Without Papa,
no singing or laughter
will bellow through the hillside.
The world will be silent,
empty,
broken.
Around me, people crawl
on hands and knees,
looking for those they love.
They scratch and paw
like hungry animals,
searching for food.
Are people still trapped?
Are people still alive?
Could Papa be trapped?
Could Papa be alive?
It hurts to bend,
but I crawl on my knees.
I scratch and paw,
not caring how I look or sound.
Papa! Papa! I call.
I kneel beside
the broken rainbow.
It’s me, Serafina.
No answer.
I crawl to the crumbling
pink walls
around the corner.
Papa, I call.
Are you there, Papa?
Again, no answer.
I stand and start walking.
The wound on my knee
begins to ache.
Papa! Papa! It’s me, Serafina,
I call to the empty dust.
People walk by me like zombies.
It’s me, Papa, are you here?
The black cloud tightens around me
until I can hardly breathe.
Papa, please hear me!
It’s me, Serafina.
I stop and lean against
a mangle of silver and wood.
I press my hand against my knee
and in looking down,
I see a small scrap of burlap
tangled in the silver.
A small scrap of burlap
between wood from a barrel
and silver from a shopping cart.
I must be at
Papa’s supermarket!
I fall to my knees again.
Papa! Papa! I call.
It’s me, Serafina!
Papa!
Papa, are you here?
Back and forth,
I scrabble and call.
Papa! Papa!
But there is only
silence,
emptiness,
sorrow.
I lean against
the mangled carts,
wrap my arms
around my legs,
and cry.
Ede mwen, a voice calls,
so quietly I barely hear it.
Ede mwen.
I stop crying.
Am I dreaming?
Papa?
Is that you?
Serafina? the voice says.
Wi, Papa! Se mwen!
I paw and dig,
pull and push.
Papa! Papa!
I scream,
and feel myself
lifted like an angel.
Dozens of dusty brown hands
claw, pull, and beg Papa
to hold on.
I close my eyes and pray.
Hold on, Papa,
please hold on.
Dozens of dusty brown hands
pound, smash,
and sweep away
the massive stone.
I watch and pray.
Please, God,
please help Papa to hold on.
Rock by rock,
pebble by pebble,
bare, blistering hands
dig, beg, and promise.
Kenbe fò! Hold on!
We’ll get you out!
The sun draws higher
and hotter,
lower
and cooler,
but the faithful brown hands
never stop moving.
Papa’s leg is trapped
behind a slab of cement
too large to move.
What if they can’t
free him?
What if the earth
rumbles again?
What if the wall
crumbles down on him?
Please, please, please, God,
I pray.
Please keep my papa safe!
I promise I’ll never
wander away
or tell another lie—
ever again!
Finally joyous shouts
chime like church bells.
He can move his legs!
Pull him out slowly!
Dousman! Be gentle!
I don’t know how many
minutes, hours, days pass,
but at last my papa is free!
He lies on his back,
smiling.
Mèsi! Mèsi!
he says to the joyous,
clapping crowd.
He slowly bends his leg,
and a man with a light
on his helmet helps him
to stand.
Papa’s eyes
search for me.
I push through the crowd.
Papa! Papa! I cry,
and everyone cheers
as I run to him.
Papa wraps
his strong arms around me.
Serafina! he whispers.
Papa, I cry into his
torn, dirty shirt.
Papa! Papa!
Every other word
is lost to us.
Every other thought
or prayer is lost.
I smell his sweat,
the dust of his waiting.
I feel his heart thumping—
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Finally Papa pulls away.
Gently he touches my face.
Manman? he whispers.
Gogo? Gregory?
I look down.
Papa, I don’t know.
Papa’s confused eyes
pierce the darkness
gathered inside me.
All my broken promises,
my almost-lies and mistakes,
all my sadness and my fears
rise and explode
in great waves
of sorry tears.
I should have gone straight home
after school. I thought I knew
where I was going but it
was a different mango tree
so I got lost
but not really lost because I was